


Iron Giant: Epilogue

by Witchy1ness



Category: Iron Giant (1999)
Genre: And some language, F/M, Gen, it's only the Giant that 'dies', there's a kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 13:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10537479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchy1ness/pseuds/Witchy1ness
Summary: Annie's POV during the end of the movie and what happens beyond that. Because we didn't get enough Annie/Dean, in my opinion.





	1. Epilogue Side A

**Author's Note:**

> The Iron Giant and all recognizable characters are the property of Warner Bros., I'm just borrowing them :)
> 
> Written in 2017.
> 
> Reviews and constructive criticism welcome, flames will be ignored.
> 
> So I know I said I would try to post one story a month (which hasn't quite worked, as I've only posted in January), so here's the first one of two :)
> 
> This is also the first time I've tried writing in the present tense, so please let me know if you catch any tense changes I missed!

Annie’s hands are gripping the soldier’s arms so tightly she is sure the man can feel her nails through his fatigues. But his attention – like hers – is riveted on the scene just down the road.

Her heart, already relocated to somewhere in her throat, drops to the soles of her feet when the giant robot levels that cannon-arm at her son, and she can feel herself get a little light-headed.

_“You are what YOU choose to be!”_

Annie hears Dean loose a startled oath behind her, but she is too preoccupied with the fact that _her baby is staring down a 50 foot tall killer robot_ to wonder why. 

And then – _and then_ – the robot…changes. It goes back to looking like a giant tin man instead of the scary _War of the Worlds_ -esque thing it had been. She catches it – him? – saying her son’s name, and can see her son replying. But even straining, she can’t hear what Hogarth is saying, the conversation behind her filling her ears as Dean argues with the General and Mansley. 

And then all conversation halts as the ground begins to shake. Soldiers yell and raise rifles and the ground shakes again, and belatedly Annie realizes what she’s initially thought is an earthquake is rather the footsteps of a very large robot coming closer. 

The three men behind her begin arguing furiously now, and one of the soldiers in front of her – a boy, really – keeps calling for orders, his voice high-pitched and cracking with strain. 

Annie herself is frozen to the spot, eyes straining to see through the smoke of the smoldering tanks. And then the robot is _there_ , looming above them all. And in its cupped hands is – 

_“Hogarth!”_

The relief she feels at seeing her boy alive and apparently unharmed is severe enough she has to lock her knees to stay standing. But her relief is short-lived as she hears Mansley scream behind her.

_“Launch the missile NOW!”_

_Missile?_

Even though her eyes take in the white vapor trail of the deceptively cheerful twinkling rocket, Annie’s mind refuses to put two-and-two together. She is only peripherally aware of the General chewing Mansley out, but she blinks back to attention when the government operative’s escape attempt is aborted by her son’s…friend. 

The air raid sirens ring like a death knell in her ears, but those morbid thoughts are briefly pushed aside when she finally - _finally!_ – gets to hold her boy safely in her arms. But even that is fleeting, as Hogarth soon breaks away, himself morbidly transfixed by the steadily climbing rocket. 

The look on his face as he explains what the rocket means to the robot breaks her heart, and she finds herself walking to him before she even realizes she’s started moving. 

Still in a bit of a daze, Annie reacts instinctively when Hogarth throws his arms around her waist and holds on so tightly she feels it through her coat. 

“Shouldn't we get to a shelter?” 

And she hates, _hates_ that teeny, tiny thread of desperation, of ‘please fix this’ in her voice as she turns to the man beside her. She is supposed to be the strong one, isn’t supposed to need anyone else. 

Annie feels Dean sigh beside her as he shakes his head and murmurs, “It wouldn’t matter.” The soft defeat in his voice and in his touch as he brushes his fingers across her son’s hair make her heart clench as she is forced to admit he is right.

Suddenly, she is exhausted. Her instinctive urge to protect her baby wars with the realization that they can’t get far enough away, fast enough. She reluctantly lets go of Hogarth when he squirms away, walking back to the robot that hasn’t stopped watching the trail of the rocket. 

Listening to their exchange pushes her heart back into her throat, and Annie blinks back a sudden sheen in her vision at Hogarth’s soft admission. The noise is incredible as the robot takes off, and she moves to wrap a comforting arm around her son’s shoulders, barely aware of Dean coming to stand next to them. 

Everyone’s gazes follow the robot as it leaves to protect a people who’ve done their damnedest to destroy it. 

She follows the robot’s trail with her gaze as long as she can, until the explosion as it collides with the missile forces her to throw up a hand to shield her eyes from the amazingly bright light. Hogarth buries his face in her chest, a hiccupping sob escaping him. Annie wraps her arms tightly around her son, wishing it were enough. 

The cheering of the crowd seems out of place. She knows, intellectually, that it is because the missile is destroyed and they are still alive, but seeing the devastation on her baby’s face sobers her. With Hogarth buried in her arms, shoulders hitching in a way she knows means he is fighting not to cry, she feels herself tearing up. She hugs him hard, hand softly stroking his hair, and taking more than a little comfort from the strong arm around her own shoulders. For a brief moment she lets herself sag against the man beside her, then shifts away just enough that Dean lets his arm drop. 

When Hogarth moves to stare up at the shimmering star that marks his friend’s sacrifice, Annie’s arms feel strangely empty. She doesn’t protest when Dean places his arm around her shoulders again, though a tiny part inside of her _tsks_ disapprovingly. It takes her three tries to clear her throat enough to say softly, “Let’s go home.” 

Only it isn’t to be that simple. 

Some soldiers begin chivvying people back to their homes, while others begin to pack up weapons and supplies – including a protesting Kent Mansley, who is clapped in handcuffs before being unceremoniously tossed in the back of a Jeep. Annie feels a little vindictive about that, only to immediately be assailed by a wave of guilt. 

She gets distracted by the gruff voice of the General, who introduces himself as Shannon Rogard. “Pardon me ma’am, but I’m going to need to speak to your son there.” 

Annie is so numb it takes her a minute to grasp what the General was saying, but when she does her protective instincts flare at the thought of letting _another_ government agent get close to her boy. 

“Now just one minute here-“ 

General Rogard holds up his hands in a placating manner, but his face and tone are firm when he tells her, “Ma’am, it’s obvious your son is the only one in this town who has any idea about that robot. I’d be called up on dereliction of duty if I didn’t get the whole story.” He spears Dean with a laser gaze. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about how you tried to boondoggle my men and I, boy. I want to talk to you too.”

And she really can’t argue with _that_ , especially – she casts a dark look at the sheepish man beside her son – since it is now obvious that Dean has known about the robot for _far_ longer than her mothering instincts are happy about. 

But still, the depressed hunch to Hogarth’s shoulders brings those same instincts to the fore. Her baby is exhausted and upset, and she wants nothing more than to get him home and tucked into bed.

“Can’t it wait? I mean, it’s obviously been a very long day and –“

“Mom? I…I want to tell him.”

Annie breaks off at her son’s voice. She regards him silently, staring into green eyes so like her own. A soundless sigh leaves her lips, “Okay Hogarth.” 

She lifts her gaze to the General, making sure the old war horse sees the steel in her eyes. “But _not_ alone. I will be accompanying my son the entire time.” 

The General nods, looking like he hasn’t been expecting any less. “Why don’t we do this at your place, then?” He gestures to the line of Jeeps that are preparing to get underway. “We haven’t exactly had time to set up a command post, and it’s too cold and I’m too damn old to sit in the back of one of those drafted malted-milk shakers for hours.”

Annie nods, a wave of relief washing over her to know that even though the day isn’t over, at least now they can spend it in comfortable, familiar surroundings. 

“Don’t suppose you got a medic here who could take a look at Hogarth?” 

Annie jerks to a stop as she, Hogarth, and General Rogard stare at Dean. She’s momentarily forgotten the junkyard owner is still there. 

Dean doesn’t seem to notice their surprise as he gestures at her son. “He was knocked unconscious and we were takin’ him to the hospital to get checked out, but…” he trails off, his one-shouldered shrug indicating the chaos of the evening. 

Annie’s eyes widen as guilt floods through her. _I forgot all about – **how** could I have forgotten about- I mean, yes he’s awake and okay and there was the whole distraction with the missile…but how could I have –_

“Hey.” 

She jerks, startled. The small grin playing on Dean’s lips makes her face flush. 

“I know a hospital would be better, but the kid seems okay, and...” he shrugs again and gestures to where her son is now sitting on the tailgate of their truck, the General apparently having waved a medic over to check him while she’s been drowning in self-recriminations.

“He seems pretty interested in military stuff.” 

Annie looks over at her son, who seems to be busy impeding the medic’s attempts to check him by rummaging around in the soldier’s bag and asking the General questions. 

“I wish he wasn’t.” 

The words are out before she is even conscious of thinking them, and she immediately clamps her lips shut, mortified. Yes, Dean isn’t exactly a stranger – he is a rather familiar face at the diner - and had been a big help in the entire fiasco (probably a big _part_ of the fiasco, if her suspicions are correct) but Annie isn’t in the habit of blurting out personal feelings to near-strangers. 

“Because of what happened to his Dad?” 

Startled, Annie swings her head around to stare at him, but then realizes the foolishness of her reaction. Rockwell, Maine isn’t exactly a big place, and she puts the junkyard owner at around the same age as her husband – her breath caught – as her husband _would have been_ , had he lived. Which makes her wonder if the two men had known each other. 

She’s distracted from the old pain when Hogarth darts over to her to breathlessly ask, “Mom can I ride in the Jeep with the General? Please?” 

She blinks at her son, thrown. “Hogarth, honey, I don’t know…” 

“ _Pleeaase_ Mom?” 

“It’d be no trouble, Ma’am,” General Rogard assures her.

It takes too much energy to argue. “Okay, but Hogarth-“ but the nine year-old has already let out a whoop and dashed off. _“Hogarth…”_ she groans. 

The General doesn’t bat an eye. “We’ll follow you out, ma’am,” and swiftly saluting her, he about-faces and strides off in the direction of her wayward son. 

Annie passes a hand over her forehead, only now noticing the beginnings of a headache making itself known. 

A hand cups her elbow and steers her gently in the direction of her truck. “So, uh, should I drive? Or…?”

She drops her hand to see Dean dangling the truck keys in front of her. 

Annie huffs a groan and gestures towards the driver’s seat, “Please.” It isn’t until they get in the truck that she recalls, “Your bike! We left it-“

Dean waves her off. 

“Ah that old thing ain’t going anywhere. I’ll go back and grab it when things settle down.”

They ride back in silence, Annie closing her eyes in a bid to quell the looming headache she can feel knocking at her temples. 

They are nearly home when her eyes pop open. “Were you the one that told him that?” 

Dean glances at her from the corner of his eye, eyebrow raised in question.

“When Hogarth went to face the- the giant. He said something about choosing to be something…” 

“You are who you choose to be,” Dean corrects. 

Annie straightens with a nod, “Yes, that’s it.” She crosses her arms and levels a look at him. “I know my son. Hogarth is smart for his age, but that didn’t sound like anything he’s ever said. And if it had come from one of his comic books I would have heard it a million times already, and I haven’t.” Annie stares as a flush spreads over the junkyard owner’s profile as he rubs a hand sheepishly on the back of his neck. 

“I…may have said somethin’ like it…” he eventually admits. 

“You may have,” she echoes dryly.

Dean ducks his head, giving her a charming little-boy smirk. 

Annie isn’t swayed - _she isn’t, damn it_ – and keeps her ‘Mom’ poker face firmly in place. “I don’t suppose you _may have_ also been the reason my son came home with wet hair yesterday? _In October_.” 

Dean blanches and begins to stutter before a look of relief washes over his face, “Hey we’re here! Let me get your door.” 

Annie narrows her eyes in exasperation at the rather unfortunate timing. She readies herself to give Dean a piece of her mind when he opens her door, but he is spared her wrath – for now, anyway – by the General opening her door instead. 

“Ma’am.”

Annie represses a sigh as she leads the procession up the front steps. She thinks longingly of the nice, soft bed waiting for her as she climbs the front steps, but there’s a three star General and two of his soldiers coming up behind her, and the first thing she does is put on a pot of coffee.

Everyone demurs her offer of food – thankfully, as she doesn’t have much in the house at the moment, but offers out of courtesy – but accepts cups of coffee (and she adds to the list of things to ask Dean about when Hogarth scowls at the coffee pot and grumbles something she doesn’t catch but makes Dean chuckle) and they get right to it as they all settle around the table. 

“Now son, why don’t you tell us how you came across this robot?”

And Hogarth takes a deep breath and straightens in his chair, and begins with the night she’d found him wandering the forest. One of the soldiers takes notes, writing in shorthand that doesn’t look like anything Annie’s ever seen. 

Once Hogarth gets all the way through, the General asks him to tell it again. And again. The third time, he breaks in with questions, picking apart her son’s thoughts and motivations at every part of the strange tale that has become his life for the past few days.

When Hogarth explains how he taught the giant to talk, her face softens; when he mentions playing pilot in the junkyard, her heart clenches with pain. Dean comes out with another pot of coffee as the questions continue, and Annie shoots him a grateful look.

Eventually, Hogarth’s eyelids start to droop, and his answers begin to slur. Annie takes a deep breath and grabs the empty milk mug from Hogarth’s hands before he can roll it off the table. “I think that’ll be quite enough for now, General.” 

The soldier gives a firm nod. “Yes ma’am, I think we’ve got all we need from your son. Thank you Hogarth.” 

Hogarth murmurs a sleepy ‘you’re welcome’ on his way out of the kitchen, weakly batting at Dean’s hand when he tousles the boy’s hair as he passes and says good night. 

Rogard’s steely gaze follows the boy out of the kitchen and then settles on Dean. “Why don’t you put the boy to bed while Mr. Beatnik here and I talk about _his_ part in all this.” 

Annie wars with herself; she needs to see to Hogarth, but she also wants to hear what the junkyard owner has to say. Hogarth’s sleepy, “Mom?” from the stairs decides her, and she follows him up. It doesn’t take that long to tuck Hogarth in - he whines about having to brush his teeth, but obeys anyway – and she’s pretty sure he’s out before his head even hits the pillow. 

Coming back downstairs, she finds the soldiers in the kitchen packing up and chatting somewhat amiably about the events of the day with Dean. 

Military-quick, they are cleared out and she and Dean are standing on her porch watching their taillights fade into the distance. Quiet descends on the little house, and Annie suddenly realizes she should’ve been at work an hour and a half ago and nearly breaks down into tears because she’s just so _exhausted_. 

“You don’t have to go in to work tonight.”

The words so eerily mirror her thoughts that she whips her head around to stare wide-eyed at Dean, half-convinced she’s actually spoken aloud.

He gives her a small smile and a tiny shrug, “I, uh, may have taken the liberty of calling the diner.”

Her jaw drops, but her initial wave of relief is quickly swamped by a flash of anger. How _dare_ he?! Not only did he have no right to do that, but did he even understand what he’d done? She _needed_ that shift – needed the money and oh lord now she had to redo her budget for the month and she was already behind on the mortgage payments and – 

_“Annie.”_

The slight edge of exasperation in his tone is enough to grab her attention, but the look on his face makes her bristle. 

“I told them that because of…things, you wouldn’t be able to come in tonight, but Laura offered to switch shifts with you. So you’re working Sunday night now.”

_Oh._

And just like that, the anger is washed away so quickly she feels light-headed. And apparently looks it too, as Dean looks alarmed and begins to reach for her arm.

She holds up a hand to wave him off. “I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m….” and suddenly she’s crying and she doesn’t know why and her emotions are just all over the place and goddamn it. 

Dean hesitantly steps closer, and there’s none of the ease with which he’d stood with her as they’d watch her son talk to a giant robot. He’s hesitant and awkward and for some reason that just makes her cry harder. 

Dean mutters a four-letter word she wants to tell him to never repeat in front of Hogarth, but then he’s wrapping his arms around her and it’s been _so long_ since she’s been held like this that she allows herself to sink into the hug. 

Annie’s not sure how long they stand there, but by the time her tears slow to a few sniffles she’s feeling empty but curiously better. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” she mutters, trying to muster up something like a smile as she steps back and tries to compose herself. 

The man just shrugs, gaze a little too knowing in the bright light of the porch light. “Hey, it’s been a hell of a day. Besides, it’s not like a little waterworks is going to make me melt or anything. Besides,” he continues cheerfully, “since I forgot to ask the grunts for a ride, I’ll need to borrow your truck to get my bike, which leaves you with no way to get to work.” 

She’s surprised by the laugh she lets out, but Dean smiles, obviously pleased with himself. 

“I actually forgot about that,” she admits. 

Dean’s smile turns into a smirk as he raises his hand, her truck keys dangling from his index finger. “I didn’t” he says smugly, before sauntering down the porch steps. “Have a good night, Annie,” he calls back over his shoulder, and she calls back a soft good night before retreating into the house.


	2. Epilogue Side B

Over the next few weeks, she finds herself spending more time with the artistic junkyard owner. They chat a bit when he comes to return their truck, and then he shows up a couple of days later, coaxing Hogarth to help him fix the damaged fence. Of course, courtesy obligates that she invite him to stay for supper – an invitation he readily accepts. 

And he is the one to suggest that Hogarth come over to the junkyard when she has to work late, swearing up and down that he’d make sure the boy is home – and in bed – at a decent hour. Hogarth’s eager acceptance of the plan makes her hesitant, but when the morning after the trial run presents her with a sulky nine year-old who complains about Dean refusing to leave until he’d actually fallen asleep - and therefore unable to get up to any actual mischief – she agrees (perhaps a little too enthusiastically, if Hogarth’s scowl is anything to go by).

She is a little less enthused about Hogarth’s newfound interest in mechanicking. Not because she thinks the trade itself is bad, but because Hogarth is forever taking things apart or trying to build rockets on her dining room table. And after the third time of having to call Dean over to put their tractor engine back together, Annie has had enough, and from then on tinkering is strictly relegated to the junkyard. 

And he even begins – at Hogarth’s insistence - to join them on the rare times she has Sunday off for a drive in the country. This little development comes about after Dean flat-out refuses to put a sidecar on his bike – and _oh_ had it ever been a nice change to _not_ be the one on the other end of her son’s dogged persistence when he’s settled his mind on something. 

It doesn’t hurt that she’s begun to find him attractive too, damn it. 

And it’s been….nice. Nice to have someone backing her up when Hogarth comes up with another grandiose project; nice to have someone to commiserate with when said grandiose project inevitably sets the barn on fire (although she has to wait for Dean to stop laughing first); nice to have conversation with another adult that doesn’t consist of “What can I get you today?” and “Would you like some more coffee?”; and nice to be treated – and good Lord she hopes she isn’t blushing – like a _lady_ instead of a mom or a waitress. And even when they do run into each other at her work, he begins to seek her out for a bit of conversation when she can spare the time for it.

And yet…

There is a tiny – but growing - part of her that resents Dean for trying to take the place of her son’s father. 

Not that he is doing it intentionally, she knows that. In these past several weeks, as she watches Dean and Hogarth grow closer, hears as more and more sentences out of her son’s mouth start with “Dean said…”, she realizes that Dean is just being, well, Dean. He treats Hogarth like an adult, showing him a respect most men wouldn’t bother with on a nine year-old. And Hogarth soaks it up like a sponge. And every time, Annie can’t help the little voice that whispers _Jack should be the one showing him how to fix that; Jack should be the one telling him how to deal with that; JackJackJack…._

But Jack isn’t here. 

Dean is.

And it gives her such a mix of emotions that when Dean invites the two of them over to his place one Sunday afternoon, she spends most of the visit hardly speaking. Dean quickly picks up on the tension, though she is sure he has no idea for the reason. 

Conversation is light and perfunctory, and she breathes a mental sigh of relief when he goes into his kitchenette to grab more coffee, though the mask of polite interest she’s schooled her face into slips at Hogarth’s excited exclamation when Dean exits the kitchenette. 

“Hey Dean! You never told me you were in the Army!” 

Annie’s fingers clench convulsively around the mug in her hand and Dean’s face goes hard for a brief moment before smoothing out just before Hogarth turns around. 

Her son surfaces from browsing one of the many stuffed bookshelves of the junkyard owner’s home, holding a rather battered looking photo frame, an excited look on his face. He shoves the frame at the man, demanding, “That is you, right? There, on the hood?”

Dean sighs, taking the time to set his mug and the coffeepot down before taking the frame from the excited boy and plopping down into his recliner. He politely shifts so that Annie can see the photo too, though it takes her a moment to pick him out. 

The picture is of five men in fatigues posed on and around the front of a Jeep. Dean is sitting smack dab in the centre of the hood, one foot braced on the front bumper, and the other drawn up with his arm around it. The two men on either side of him have their arms around his shoulders, while the other two are sitting sprawled on the ground in front of the bumper, all wearing helmets and massive grins. The younger Dean in the photo looks just as relaxed as the man sitting across from her, but rather more clean-shaven and with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“How come you never told me about this before?” Hogarth demands again, bouncing on the chair arm next to him. 

“Hogarth,” Annie admonishes him, and he obediently stops fidgeting. 

“It’s not exactly something I’m-“ Dean cuts himself off with a cough, and Annie purses her lips, knowing enough about the man to intuit _exactly_ what he’d been about to say. She stays quiet though, as Dean recovers and then continues, “…I mean, not exactly something I think about often.”

“But what did you _do_? Did you go overseas? Is that why you’re wearing brain buckets –” 

_“Hogarth Hughes!”_

Hogarth flinches at the bite in his mother’s voice, casting a hurt and confused gaze at her. 

Dean manages a chuckle, though Annie’s sure her son doesn’t catch the strain she can hear. “S’ok Annie, the kid’s just curious.” His shifts in his chair, which Hogarth takes as an invitation to slide down the arm he’s perched on into the miniscule space, ending up halfway in the man’s lap. Dean says nothing, merely discreetly rearranges himself to shield from stray knees and elbows. 

“Okay, first off. It’s not a brain bucket. That’s what the flyboys in the Air Force called ‘em. We – those of us in the Army, I mean – usually called ‘em tin hats, or sometimes Panic Hats.” 

Hogarth opens his mouth, but Dean heads him off. 

“We called them that because when the shit-“ Dean casts an apologetic look at her, “-ah, stuff hit the fan, the first thing you did was grab onto your hat. I was a nut buster – er, a mechanic. I worked on basically anything with wheels: Jeeps, bikes, sometimes tanks, if they needed another set of hands.”

Annie watches Hogarth’s eyes get wider and wider with every word out of the man’s mouth, a familiar sensation twisting in her gut. When Dean pauses, Hogarth seizes the moment to spill forth another torrent of questions, and she can’t stand it any longer. Needing to get away from the feelings and memories being dredged up, she stands and walks over to stare unseeingly at one of Dean’s artworks. 

She takes deep, steady breaths, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, arms clutched around her middle as if to physically keep her emotions down. She’s just managed to bring herself back under control when a hand on her shoulder makes her jump and spin around. 

Dean looks apologetic, “Sorry Annie, I didn’t mean to startle you. You okay?” 

Her attention is distracted by the absence of her son, “Where-“ 

“I sent him outside. Told him there were a couple of old army bikes out back if he wanted to take a look.”

“Oh.” 

They fall silent.

The awkward atmosphere stretches and strains between them, until Dean breaks it with a sigh.

“Look, Annie…I did what I had to do, what my country _needed_ me to; but I’m not proud of what I did. War…war should never be the answer, but…” and here one work-roughened finger gently tips her chin up, “- I know the kid idolizes his Dad. Like he should. His Dad was – _is_ – a hero. And I will never, _ever_ say anything against that, okay?” he said softly. 

How can she make him understand? 

She and Hogarth had picked themselves up after Jack died, had continued on with their lives because, really, what else could they do? And they – she – had gotten used to it, to just being two. And then came an alien iron giant, and then Dean….initially, it had helped that Dean was nothing like her late husband. He was opposite in personality, interests, philosophies, looks; just a man who had, through a series of rather unfortunate events, become entangled in her son’s – and by extension, her – life. 

But he and Hogarth had formed bonds, in the shape of an iron giant whose absence left her son listless and at loose ends. Things had slowly been getting better; Hogarth smiled more, had friends in school, and was slowly going back to the inquisitive nine year-old he had been before a metal alien had dropped out of the sky. 

And Dean, she reluctantly admitted, had been a big part of that.

But the second her eyes had landed on the faded black-and-white photo, it was like the last several years just melted away, and Jack was standing by the front door in his uniform, saying he had to go do one last weather recon mission and that he’d be back soon. 

And then suddenly there were military police on her doorstep, hats in hand and she was left struggling to figure out how to tell a little boy that his father – his father, who had survived an _actual_ goddamn war – wasn’t coming home again. 

And now, to find out that Dean – _Dean_ , Mr. Marching-to-my-own-drum – had also been in the military? 

Brutally honest, Annie admits to herself she’s been a bit, well, naïve – _and to think that, at her age!_ – about the whole possibility. After all, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone their age who _hadn’t_ been involved in the cold war in some way or another, but it has never occurred to her that the artistic, free-wheeling, to-hell-with-authority tow truck operator who consistently falls asleep in her diner is included in that. It just….doesn’t fit the man she knows. That she _thinks_ she knows. 

But now, in hindsight, things she’s brushed off – the fact that he is about the same age as Jack; the way he’d saluted after he’d helped her into the Jeep when the Army had descended for the robot; the old army-issue bike she’s spotted in one corner of his workshop – makes her heart sink.

Granted, he isn’t in the Army any longer, but…everyone knows about the simmering tensions with Russia – the cold war is still happening, after all - and if it ever heats up…Jack had already been in the military when conscription kicked in, but if it happens again….her stomach rolls.

She can’t (just _can’t_ ) go through having to tell her baby that another important person in his life – in their life – isn’t coming home again. 

And she opens her mouth to tell him exactly that, but no words come out. Frustrated and blinking furiously to clear the sudden sheen across her vision, she takes a deep breath and tries again, only to lose all train of thought when Dean’s lips gently brush across hers. 

Her eyes widen, shock causing tears to slip down her cheeks. And when he gently kisses those away too, she trembles. One hand comes up to push him away, but instead it fists itself in his work shirt as she tips her head back. The hand that has been under her chin slides around to the back of her neck, the other coming to rest cautiously on her waist. Annie closes her eyes and kisses him with every ounce of desperation she has, ignoring the tiny part of her mind that writhes in shocked impropriety. 

She doesn’t even realize she’s leaning back until a sharp jab sends her jerking forward. She’s gotten a little too close to the art piece she was admiring earlier. For one brief moment, she and Dean are pressed flush, the sensation setting her nerves tingling. 

Dean eases back from the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. “I’m not going anywhere, ok Annie?” 

And all Annie can do is nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts!
> 
> The Iron Giant Wikipedia page has General Rogard's first name as Shannon, while the Iron Giant Wikia has it as Kenneth. My cursory research suggests an Irish origin for the Rogard surname - which didn't help - but I went with Shannon because that was what I had initially (I also can't remember if his first name is ever mentioned in the movie, so it is possibly subject to change when I rewatch it LOL).
> 
> I'm fairly certain Dean's motorcycle is a 1957 Harley Davidson Sportster - which would mean it was a brand new bike in the movie.
> 
> I learned LOTS of interesting military slang doing research for this fic; all of which is useless to me as a civilian, and some of which is downright hilarious :D
> 
> Sources:
> 
> Very interesting list of military slang: https://archive.org/stream/War_Slang/War_Slang_djvu.txt  
> More slang here: http://www.artofmanliness.com/2015/07/31/wwii-slang/  
> Info on military helmets: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brodie_helmet#United_States


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